


Shadows

by TheGreatLibraryFangirl (Mazeem)



Series: Kink and Bone [6]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Panic Attacks, Referenced D/s, Self-Harm, Whump, Wolfe Needs A Hug, wolfe is not ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21603193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/TheGreatLibraryFangirl
Summary: Wolfe's mental health takes an unexpected nose-dive one sort-of-innocent day and Khalila and Dario try to help. Post Sword and Pen.
Relationships: Dario Santiago/Khalila Seif, Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Series: Kink and Bone [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1444414
Comments: 23
Kudos: 14





	1. Ephemera

**Author's Note:**

> Have a Prologue, of sorts.

**Text of a note via Codex from Scholar Wolfe to Lord Commander Niccolo Santi.**

**Written with several different inks, as if over a period of several hours.**

**Deleted without sending.**

> _Nic,_
> 
> _I’ve never understood your aversion to the repeated arrival of the calendar date that you left for Belgium. I always thought it was odd. Irrational._
> 
> _I remember the day well. You said goodbye, three times, or so you proclaimed when you finally dragged me from my reading to listen. We kissed farewell, and I watched you stride off down the street. You looked very handsome in your uniform. You always do._
> 
> _It was the same as any of the hundreds of times you have left on work trips over the years. I will admit to occasionally soothing any loneliness by stoking my pride in your skill and your expertise which always had you in such demand. Don’t let it inflate your ego, or I will start listing your many flaws too._
> 
> _What I mean to say is that the day itself has no negative memories attached, for either of us. Hating that day in particular is a result of your reaction to everything that followed, as if there was any relation at all._
> 
> ~~_As if they couldn’t have taken me whenever they liked. Wherever they liked._ ~~
> 
> _It is an emotionally-driven intellectualised imposition of an artificial starting point for something you never had any control over anyway._
> 
> _And yet, now I must apologise, dearest Nic, because it appears I am guilty of the same ridiculous leap of logic._
> 
> _Today is the same date that I had marked on the calendar all those years ago to present my work on the press to that bastard. I only remember such an arbitrary day because I was so confident of success that it had been circled for weeks._
> 
> _How small a day is that? How insignificant? Not only did the presentation never occur, I didn’t even note the day passing; by then I was already gone._
> 
> _There are no memories attached to it. None. It is a phantom and a figment of my imagination._
> 
> _But then, I have considerable experience with such troublesome things._
> 
> _It just so happens, in one of those strange moments when Shait laughs at us, that today was an echo not only in my mind, but also in reality. Today I had the official discussion about that paper I submitted recently. You remember the one? Disgraced seventeenth-century Artifex Scholar Hooke? Jess found a cache of his work buried in some unbearably twee-named residence in southern England. It was fascinating to synthesise._
> 
> _You’d tell me to stop rambling, if you were here, you heard me talk about this paper many times as I wrote it. But you’re not here._
> 
> _~~I wish you were here. The house echoes without you. I ache without you.~~ _
> 
> _Official presentation. Yes. A completely different office, Nic, to the hypothetical event which never happened. Different Archivist, as well, of course. Khalila asked some very insightful questions. I may need a follow-up paper._
> 
> _~~It’s about his forays into the concept of evolution, and how~~ _
> 
> _I nearly started detailing the follow-up paper. You’re lucky I changed my mind._
> 
> _If you were here, I could tell you about it and you would pretend to listen, and perhaps distract me in some pleasurable way ..._
> 
> _But I should not. My damned vivid imagination is getting more exercise today than is good for it._
> 
> _The day has been utterly benign on this silly date with its entirely imaginary weight, Nic, and yet I must admit to feeling very … unsettled. As though I am picking my way across a mostly-frozen lake._
> 
> _There is no genuine connection between a stupid date that never happened and the entirely different date when they came for me, and yet my mind has created one out of whole cloth._
> 
> _I am sat here waiting, my beloved, for an event years past. For footsteps years past. As if I might know which footsteps were significant now, when I did not then._
> 
> _More alarmingly, I am almost out of wine._
> 
> _That might be the thing that drags me out of this house to visit Khalila and Dario, as I intended tonight. I am already an hour late. She would be a willing ear for my follow-up ideas. Dario … well, he has good taste in wine._
> 
> ~~_Then I wouldn’t need to consider food, or rest, and the effort they require without you._ ~~
> 
> _But I would not be good company, tonight. I am already not good company for myself._
> 
> _Anyway, if I could muster the will to get out of this chair, my love, then I would instead Translate to the_ Dù Fǔ Cǎotáng _Serapeum and find you._
> 
> _Although perhaps not. I know it upsets you, seeing me like this._
> 
> _You will be home soon. I will wait._


	2. Enter the Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Khalila and Dario discover Wolfe's situation and promptly turn up at his door. A very awkward time ensues.

Khalila yawned. Her plate of food was largely untouched. She looked at the clock; it was almost half past nine at night. Early, by her usual standards, but she never got enough sleep these days. 

“He’s clearly not coming, flower.” Dario, by contrast, was clearing his third plateful. His tone was flippant, but she knew that he was merely munching to quiet his own sense of unease. 

It was always difficult to pry Wolfe out of the house when Nic was away, yes, but his terse refusals always arrived well in advance of the relevant meal time. This time, she had sent several messages as the evening approached, and received only silence. 

He’d also been strangely quiet during their meeting earlier, formal, polite and succinct with none of the usual verbal jabs and spiky challenges that characterised his academic discourses. She’d put it down to the bags under his eyes at the time.

“No, you’re probably right.” She sighed and rang the bell for the servants to come and clear the food.

“You said he was fine in the morning. Have you checked with Eskander to ensure his Codex is working?” Dario swallowed a mouthful of salt-crusted fish. “Could just be that.” 

A point so obvious that she had overlooked it. She reached into her pocket, and just as she touched her Codex it vibrated and lit up.

> _ Khalila _
> 
> _ You’ll have to make do without my presence tonight. My apologies for the late notice. I hope you two have a pleasant evening.  _
> 
> _ Scholar Wolfe _

“One day he’ll stop signing himself as Scholar Wolfe,” Dario grumbled over her shoulder. She bopped him on the head with the Codex. 

“Ssh. You’re just sore about that incident when you tried to call him Chris.”

_ Are you sure? _ she wrote back to him, knowing it was fruitless.  _ You’d be very welcome at the dinner table. Dario isn’t as effective an ear for my new-found enthusiasm about mathematical analysis of electricity as you would be. _

_ That’s hardly a compliment. The dinner table itself might be a more effective ear for that topic than Dario _ , he replied almost immediately. 

She nibbled on the top of her pen as she pondered. That was quick. Crabby, but quick. So he wanted conversation, then. 

_ You’re just still traumatised by his interpretation of the letters between Hooke and Wren _ .

_ Khalila, erotica is not an interpretation and it is not research. It is fiction. A low form of fiction, at that. We should never have let Litterae get their hands on any of the papers. Vargas did it to spite me _ . 

Her shoulders relaxed. Ranting academic snob Wolfe was an encouraging sign.

_ I’ll send you my draft paper, if you’d like something more factual to critique this evening. Greta is too nice for these things, and Thomas isn’t a great fan of purely theoretical mathematics _ . 

_ Greta is too nice for most things _ .  _ Send away.  _

A second message appeared straight afterwards, flowing straight into the space of the first: 

_ I’d have thought you would leap at the opportunity to go to bed earlier than midnight _ . 

_ Oh, there’s never any time for that, is there? _ Khalila wrote, hoping that the tease came across.  _ I’ll do some research instead _ .

_ Ah, little Scholar Seif _ , he wrote back.

She tilted her head. She couldn’t make out the tone of that at all. 

And was his handwriting messier than usual? Was she just imagining things? Worrying too much about a capable, determined man twice her age?

“Darling?” 

Dario’s secret family code meant that he was trained in spotting minute differences in handwriting. He’d confirm one way or the other. 

“Yes, flower?” He leaned in. He’d been very politely not reading the message over her shoulder. 

“Does that look –“ She stopped and stared at the page. Wolfe had written something else while she’d not been looking. 

_ I’m proud of you _ .

She thought one or two of the words she didn’t allow Dario to say.

“That’s not right,” she said out loud. 

Dario looked at the page and said immediately; “His handwriting’s off. Like he’s concentrating on it. And since when does  _ Wolfe _ say nice things like that?”

_ When the situation is dire _ , Khalila answered inside her head. Dread coalesced into a cold lump in her belly. 

“Is he drunk?” Dario frowned and rubbed his chin, where he hadn’t neatened up a day’s worth of growth.

“He could be drunk,” Khalila agreed. That didn’t bode well. She absentmindedly ran her hand over Dario’s shoulder and neck. “Go and put a jacket on.”

_ Thank you _ , she wrote back.  _ I couldn’t even pretend to be a Scholar still without your support _ .

_ Oh, don’t flatter me, Khalila _ . 

_ I will if I want to _ , she replied, faking the good mood she no longer felt.  _ I’m the Archivist, and I’m reasonably sure that setting down in writing that you’re one of the driving forces behind the throne makes it official somewhere.  _

There was the faintest shift of the page, like he’d leaned in to respond and then changed his mind before setting pen to paper. She waited, but he didn’t answer. 

He’d not left a message unanswered for more than two minutes yet, so she counted under her breath.

Dario came back fully dressed while she was counting, so she gestured him into silence. At two and a half minutes, she sighed. 

“Something’s definitely wrong. Let security know where we need to go?”

She carried her Codex into the bedroom, to keep an eye on it while quickly finding a warmer dress. It was a touch cold outside. 

Her Codex flashed as she was engulfed in her dress, and she nearly tore the arm hole trying to get herself free.

_ Well, that’s a legacy, isn’t it?  _

Even she could see the handwriting differences now. She lost patience with this tiptoeing. 

_ Are you all right, Scholar?  _

His stylus touched the page. It didn’t lift, but it didn’t move either. A spot of mirrored ink formed on the page. 

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Dario came in and said something; she flapped a hand at him and he drew closer to stare with her at the terrifying evidence of Wolfe’s sudden speechlessness. The blot of ink spread and bled onto the mirrored page before fading. 

_ Yes _ , Wolfe continued, finally.  _ I’m all right _ .  _ Just jumping at shadows _ . 

* * *

As their carriage huffed through the streets - busy, still, with people dining - Dario turned to her and asked,

“Should we let him know we’re coming?”

She went cold all over and nodded. She’d switched so hard into emergency mode that she hadn’t thought about the basic courtesies. This wasn’t like when Thomas or Jess raised alarms about each other. This wasn’t a rescue mission.

(She hoped. Oh, she hoped.)

And even if it  _ was _ , there was no precedent for it. Wolfe and Santi dealt with issues themselves, on the whole, as was right for men of their standing. She really had only their experiences while on the run and a few tales from Jess to know what they might be walking into. 

She watched Dario’s,  _ On the way _ , fade into his Codex. 

_ No. I’m not good company _ . 

Dario snorted and wrote quickly,  _ Don’t worry, Scholar, you’re the last person I’d go to for good company and I’m sure the feeling is mutual _ .

“Dario!” She stared with horror at his flippant, insulting words. Dario looked at her with his all-too-familiar look of nervous defiance. 

“What? Do you really expect  _ Wolfe _ to respond well to overt concern? You know what I’m doing, carina.”

Indeed, she did. The aforementioned lessons from being on the run had taught her that Wolfe could shore himself up against almost anything as long as he had something to brace himself with. It was why he floundered whenever Nic left. 

She’d seen Jess use this; deliberately aggravating his lungs around Wolfe to give him something to focus on. Something to do. 

(Lecture Jess angrily for several minutes, and in one case, march off to purchase the missing refill of Jess’ medication himself.)

And Dario was doing the same now, goading Wolfe, yes, but subtly telling him that he couldn’t weaken now, not if he wanted to get the last word in.

Would it work? Was it even what Wolfe needed?

Oh, she wished Jess was here. He knew more about this than any of them. But no, he, Thomas and Glain were abroad. 

As, of course, was Nic. 

She and Dario might not be the best option, but they were the only one available. 

For such a short trip into such a safe area, her captain had only brought herself and four other guards, two in plain-clothes. Khalila nodded as she climbed out of the carriage and the five of them blended into the background. 

Bright golden glows seeped through curtains which had been tightly pulled at each window. Khalila looked at Dario once, briefly, for courage, and then knocked.

The door opened almost immediately. 

“You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” Wolfe snapped at them both. He jerked his head. “In.”

The bags that she had noticed under his eyes that morning were still there, and his teeth were stained with red wine. He stood steady as they filed past him and his voice wasn’t slurred, but there was an empty wine bottle on the table and a faint smell of it in the air that suggested there were more somewhere else, the dregs fermenting in the heat. 

The underfloor heating was on and, as she’d already noticed, all the curtains were drawn. It was stuffy and unpleasant. 

They were a very northern European thing, curtains. Claustrophobic and stifling, to her. All that fabric, with no way to easily adjust the amount of light allowed entrance. She’d never figured out why this house had them. 

As she recalled the view from outside, she thought that she might have an inkling now. She could see how the heavy, unseasonal drapes might feel like a barrier. 

Wolfe locked the door behind them. This seemed almost as complex a manoeuvre as it was for herself and Dario, involving two different keys and a flat lock that glowed when Wolfe pressed his band against it. 

He turned to face Khalila. Tension suddenly solidified in the air. His stance was frankly aggressive.

“Has anything happened?” she asked, keeping her voice light and friendly. “To cause you problems, I mean?”

He let out a harsh, unamused bark of laughter. “Nothing’s happened. No white horse for you to ride in on, Khalila. That’s the problem. My mind’s just overreacting. But … now I have company, I suppose.” He gestured them towards the table in the middle of the room. 

Khalila took her seat obediently and fiddled with a splinter in the table to displace some of the chill in her chest. Wolfe was trying hard to act his usual irritable self, but that had been a very disjointed response.

He sat facing the door, and folded his arms. The silence seethed. 

“I’ll get us some drinks.” Khalila made as if to stand, but to her surprise Dario signalled dissent and stood himself. 

“Allow me, flower. I know where Nic’s stashed that nice wine I brought back the other month.”

“Dario, is that really-“

“Drank that earlier.” Wolfe’s flat statement silenced Khalila. 

“What? _ All  _ of it?” Dario’s voice nearly squeaked.

Wolfe shrugged.

Dario flailed his arms. “You wasted  _ Tarragona _ on  _ anxiety drinking _ ?”

Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Like you haven’t?”

“I,” Dario jerked a thumb at himself as if for emphasis, “have an entirely separate cupboard of wine for anxiety drinking.” 

He was still very over the top, Khalila noticed. Goading. She wasn’t certain whether he was aiming to set Wolfe at ease or drive him into being more forthcoming, but it didn’t seem to be causing a bad reaction right now. 

“Mm.” Wolfe raked his nails up his forearm. “What happens when you get through the cupboard?”

“Curl into a ball and cry, usually.” 

Dario’s brutal self-honesty often took people aback, and sure enough Wolfe blinked. 

“Well. Thank you, Dario. I’ve not sunk that far yet.” He folded his arms and tucked them into the edge of the table. “There might still be some filtered water in the cupboard.”

“Filtered water! Dining in style!” Dario said sarcastically. As he rummaged around, Khalila focused back onto Wolfe. 

“So, should I begin boring you with my electrical analysis yet?” She smiled. 

Wolfe didn’t smile back but his expression relaxed just a fraction and he inclined his head. 

She sent him her draft paper through the Codex and began to explain the problems she was having, as Dario banged around the cupboards and narrated his discoveries.

“Literally nobody needs this many beans.”

“Oh God, flower, it’s not just you who loves dates. Fuck.”

“Fruit juice! I found fruit juice!”

Wolfe rolled his eyes at that last. “I should make him drink that,” he said in a low voice. 

Dario had heard, of course. He was only pretending to give them privacy, Khalla knew. 

“Why?” he demanded. “Is it poisoned? Knew you’d figure out a way to get rid of me eventually, Scholar.”

Wolfe’s face didn’t as much as twitch, but Khalila still got the impression that he’d flinched. “Not poisoned.” He tapped his chest again. Just once, just gently. “Sadly I’m stuck with you, Dario. I wouldn’t want to upset your esteemed wife.” 

“Nobody wants to upset my wife. It’s great.” Dario held the jug of sugarcane juice up to the light and frowned. “How old is this?”

Wolfe turned and looked away from Dario. Khalila followed his gaze; he was looking at a calendar on the wall, marked with circles and crosses. 

“Three days old. I wouldn’t, if I were you. It’s not been in the ice-box.”

Dario made a non-committal noise and put the jug on the side. 

Wolfe looked back at her. It took a moment for his focus to return, though. She wondered if it was the look at the calendar that had done it, so neatly marked with the length of time before Nic's return. 

“How much of a draft is this?” he asked eventually, tracing the introduction with his index finger. His finger still trembled, but there was a familiar tone to his voice now.

“Oh no,” she said, with a genuinely nervous laugh. “Let’s pretend it’s a very early draft, shall we?”

“No special treatment for the Archivist,” Wolfe replied immediately. “So, let’s look at the coherency of-”

“No, actually, I have a better question,” Dario interrupted. He clattered back into his seat. Khalila saw Wolfe flinch at the noise, and signalled to Dario to tone it down. 

“So,” he said, more quietly. “I found some dried beans, some dates, some of that nice pickled white cheese, and canned meat of some kind. No crockery out, no evidence of recent washing up. Fairly bare cupboards, all things considered. Have you eaten today?”

Wolfe looked at him with a blank expression. “All that invasive nosiness and you missed the wine under the sink.”

Dario shook his head slowly. “You drank my Tarragona and left wine that lives under the fucking god damned sink.”

Just as Wolfe was about to reply, footsteps sounded outside. Wolfe froze. The footsteps passed by quickly, and Wolfe got straight to his feet. 

Khalila drew breath to speak, only to have him hiss,

“ _Shut up_ ,” in a tight voice. 

First he checked the door handle, several times. Still locked. His breathing was far too fast, but utterly silent. Next he checked every single window - and for the first time Khaliila noticed that the curtains were tucked in such a way that he could check the window locks without disturbing the fall of the fabric. 

Finally he surveyed the house carefully from his crouched vantage point.

Including them. Khalila wondered how he was categorising them.

“You don’t like us being between you and the door, do you?”

He shook his head. Swallowed, hard. “You’d be collateral. To get to me. Couldn’t bear that.” He regained control over his breathing by what looked like sheer willpower. “Not that there’s anyone trying to get to me. I’m aware of how fucking stupid I’m being.” He straightened from his crouch with a wince, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and didn’t raise his head again to meet their eyes.

“Have you been doing this  _ all day _ ?” Dario demanded. Wolfe shook his head, but didn’t volunteer anything more. 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Khalila asked. 

Wolfe gave her a dark, cold look from behind the curtain of his messy hair. “You could not bring soldiers to my door.” 

The words fell into the air between them like stones.

“Only my guards,” Khalila hastened to reassure him. “I trust them.”

Far from reassuring him, that seemed to make it worse. He let out a shivering sigh. 

“Yes. The Archivist’s elite soldiers,” he said, in a voice so low that she wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be audible. 

Her stomach swooped. “No, that’s not –“

“Relax, dear.” He rolled his eyes as if at her overreaction. 

The usual unfair mockery soothed her but the endearment unsettled her. Nic called her that every day, these days, but not Wolfe. 

“Jumping at shadows, remember? That’s all. Old shadows. Thick on the ground, tonight.” He closed his eyes for a moment and gripped his forearms with both hands. His face looked pinched and drawn.

“If they’re bothering you, I’ll instruct them to fall back.” She reached for her pen, but stopped as his eyes flew open and he fixed her with a glare.

“You will look to your own security first,” he ordered. “I would rather be-“ He broke off his sentence and shook himself like he was dislodging a fly. “This happens. This.” He gestured at himself with a disgusted expression. “Usually I can anticipate it, but, even so. It will pass. It doesn’t matter. You two should get back to your evening.”

There was a quirk in his lips, and a slight hint in the way he said ‘evening’. Gentle jokes about her and Dario’s sex life were another favourite of Nic’s. From Wolfe, it just smacked of a distraction attempt.

Still, she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Thankfully, she had Dario, who enjoyed pretending to have no shame. 

“She hasn’t updated the calendar yet. Trust me, I don’t get any unless it’s on the calendar. Currently, we are continuing as planned, are we not?” Dario gestured to the three of them with his eyebrows exaggeratedly raised.

Wolfe scoffed. “This isn’t socialising, this is meddling children staging an intervention.” He let out another shuddering breath and briefly touched his chest with his knuckles. “And, as you so obnoxiously pointed out, I‘m not exactly equipped for hosting a dinner right now.”

“That wasn’t obnoxious. I can be obnoxious, if you’d like?” 

“Shut up.” 

While they vied for verbal victory, Khalila scribbled a note to Captain Gurung, the leader of her personal guard, to try and keep the guards outside as unobtrusive as possible. 

“Does Nic know you’re having a difficult day?” she asked, nudging Wolfe’s vacated chair with her foot to indicate that he was welcome to sit down again. 

Wolfe pulled a face. “He has an idea.” He pushed away from the wall and headed towards the kitchen cupboards, limping slightly. “I’ll make us a cup of tea, anyway.”

“Ooh, aniseed?”

“You’ll get hibiscus and like it, you little shit.” That was unusually base language from Wolfe. He looked stiff and sore as he reached into the ice-box. 

“After tea, then, shall we finally start socialising? I brought a deck of cards.” Dario’s voice was light and easy but his eyes were dark and focused on Wolfe. 

“Cards,” Wolfe repeated expressionlessly, his thoughts obviously scrolling through some unknown list of pros and cons. His hands shook as he brought out the jug of cold, sweet hibiscus tea. “I’ll count the cards,” he said after a moment, as if a switch had flicked. “I can’t quite help myself. Drives Nic mad.”

Dario shrugged. “I play with Thomas. I’m used to that.”

Wolfe snorted. “Continuing to play Thomas at anything other than games involving pure luck is idiocy, Dario.”

They settled at the table, Wolfe and Dario opposite each other and Khalila beside Dario. The men were playing, apparently, for ownership of that last bottle of wine under the sink. Her job, according to Dario, was to keep talking about her work and hopefully distract Wolfe from flawlessly card-counting. 

“But I got you a pack too,” he added when she frowned at him, flashing her a devilish grin and sliding another deck of cards from his jacket pocket across to her. 

“I feel so loved,” she said dryly, setting the cards up for a solo sorting patience game. “Can’t we sit on the sofa?” She looked over at the comfortable-looking divan in the corner. Not for her sake, but for Wolfe, who was clearly suffering from pain in his back. He kept twisting and stretching in the wooden chair, despite its adequate padding.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. “No,” he said eventually. 

She tilted her head, and out of the corner of her eye saw Dario put his hand of cards face-down. 

That hadn’t been a tight, tortured “No.” Or even a defensive one. That had been … embarrassment?

“Divan’s soiled, is it?” Dario’s eyes gleamed. “Not cleaned up since the goodbye fuck?”

“You are crude and disgusting and I disown you, Santiago,” Wolfe mumbled, glancing at her as if to apologise. His embarrassment made her grin back awkwardly. 

“Hey, we’ve all done it.” Dario’s grin was a mile wide. “We had to throw an emergency blanket over the chair Thomas was about to sit in the other week, didn’t we, flower?”

Khalila rolled her eyes, but noted with relief that Wolfe’s shoulders had relaxed a little. “Let’s find an emergency blanket, then.”

That was worth the effort, Khalila thought a few minutes later, as Wolfe sank back onto the soft seating and very nearly fell asleep on the spot. She silently lowered herself onto the chair that she had dragged over, and gestured to Dario to be quieter in dragging his. 

To her disappointment, a moment later Wolfe twitched and blinked and sat up again, and drank some of his sugary tea. 

“Right.” He reached for his cards.


	3. Wolfe's Crisis

Twenty minutes later, Dario had lost the first game, and Khalila had to admit that Wolfe’s criticisms of her prose had a point. 

He had also got up again to check the locks after a couple of chatty Obscurists whose voices Khalila recognised had wandered by, but on the whole she was pleased with the start of their 'socialising'. 

Suddenly, there was a racket from outside; an uncoordinated clumping of High Garda boots, and the sound of loud knocking on a door a few houses down.

“Where are you?” a deep voice shouted. Drunk, by the sound of it.

Khalila jumped, Dario dropped half his new hand of cards, and Wolfe … oh, Wolfe. 

Alexandrians’ concept of the soul was called the  _ ka _ , Khalila dimly remembered, and she watched Wolfe’s lift clean out of his body right in front of her, the ignition of desperate terror leaching away to dead-eyed hopelessness. 

Fury flared inside her. She sprang to her feet and marched towards the door. 

This street was clearly marked in all High Garda training materials as a forbidden area for patrols, for marching, for appearing in groups. 

She would have that squad leader brought to her. She’d have them put in a pillory for all to see and mock. 

“Khalila!” Dario’s alarmed voice made her spin. In slow-motion, she saw Dario grapple with Wolfe, then saw Wolfe collapse back into his seat like his strings had been cut. 

Like he’d given up. 

He stared up at her. His glazed eyes were buried deep in lines and shadows and hollows that she swore hadn’t been there before, and the spark of life he’d just shown was guttering.

“Let them in, then.” His voice was a raspy whisper. 

Icy horror doused the self-indulgent fury. Of course. She had, indeed been heading for the door. 

“No, I won’t,” she promised, pinned to the spot by the power of the scenario Wolfe’s imagination had created. “I would never.”

Wolfe blinked. He didn’t quite seem to be looking at her. 

“There’s no-one to let in,” Dario said urgently, leaning in close to Wolfe and giving her a cross little look. 

“Just give him a moment, my love.”

She needed one herself. She started to return to her seat, but realised that in sitting there she would be blocking Wolfe’s view of the door. He probably wouldn’t appreciate that right now. Instead she perched on the edge of the table, and got out her Codex to write to Captain Gurung again:

_ I want whoever is the leader of that High Garda rabble who just clattered past to be brought to my desk an hour after daybreak. And whoever’s in charge of them, too. And yourself, if you let any other soldiers down this route tonight.  _

Oops. She was still angry, then.

_ Yes, Archivist _ , Gurung wrote back almost immediately. Wonderful, reliable woman. Khalila closed the Codex and looked anxiously at Wolfe.

Wolfe was breathing in a perfectly controlled, slow way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. His head was buried in his hands. 

Dario was hovering beside him, half crouched on the divan. If it had been literally anyone else from their group, Nic included, Khalila could tell Dario would have already put an arm around them. But not Wolfe. 

“There’s –“ She almost said,  _ There’s no-one outside _ , but then again, that wasn’t at all true. The random squad had been outside, and her guards were still stationed there too. Wolfe wasn’t hallucinating, and trying to lie wouldn’t be helpful. “No-one will enter this house. You’re safe.”

He looked up just enough to meet her gaze, and nodded. His face glistened with perspiration. 

“Here.” Dario handed Wolfe a half full wine glass. 

Khalila blinked. Where had that come from?  “Dario,” she said, confused, “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”

Wolfe took the glass in both of his violently shaking hands and gulped the contents down like water. 

Dario refilled it; another half.  “Last one,” he said to Wolfe who nodded. 

“Dario!” Khalila didn’t understand. 

“It takes the edge off, flower,” Dario said, glancing at her feet rather than her face. 

Now certainly wasn’t the time to restart their argument over relying on alcohol for emotional regulation, but it was briefly tempting. 

Wolfe handed the emptied glass back to Dario, who set it carefully aside. A thin rivulet of wine ran down his chin. “Thank you.” He noticed the dribble and wiped it away clumsily, then slumped back. 

Khalila thought she might be able to risk returning to her seat now. She settled cautiously, not missing the way that Wolfe’s eyes did indeed flick between her and the door now behind her. 

“I can move, if you’d like?” she asked. Wolfe shook his head. 

“It’s fine.” He tugged his fingers through the tangles in his hair. “I’m not being mad anymore.”

“It’s not!” Khalila said earnestly. “It’s a completely understandable –“

“Don’t patronise me.” He cut her off. There was no heat or bitterness in his voice, just a flat snapping command that she still found herself following, all these years later.

_ How powerful our formative experiences are _ , she mused with a tiny, detached part of her mind. 

Just as she thought he might be succeeding in his attempt to regain control of himself, his eyes flew wide open and he flung himself forwards like he was about to vomit. 

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Oh, fuck.”

She could actually see his pulse thumping in his temple. 

“What’s wrong?” she cried out. 

He let out another string of swear words in reply. Then, seeming to realise she was still there, he blurted a quick, rote, “Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine,” before he flung his head back against the back of the sofa (hard enough, she saw, to daze his drunken senses for a moment) and swore again. 

“Thank  _ fuck _ you were there,” he said to Dario. Almost a snarl, gripping Dario’s forearm with painful-looking intensity. 

“Why? What were you going to do?” Dario was all sharp glitter, edge and mask, push and challenge. She didn’t think Wolfe could see underneath it like she could. 

“Kill myself. Stupid fucker.” All the intensity, the terrified fury, dropped away from Wolfe with those words, and he started to shake so convulsively that she was afraid he might slide off the divan. 

There was a long, pregnant pause. Dario gave her a terrified look, and nervously put his hand on top of Wolfe’s. 

“Scholar Wolfe?” she asked, and tried to keep her voice as soft and unthreatening as she could. “Could you tell us anything else about that?”

He let out a ragged breath. Sucked another one in with such desperation that her ears heard Jess for a moment. “I believed it,” he mumbled. “When the … with the knock. Just for a moment.”

She made an encouraging noise. Noticed that his hand on his stomach was, like the one on Dario’s arm, clawed and clenched hard enough to hurt. 

“There is a gun. In the bedroom. Because, I couldn't. If it was real. I couldn't.” He was flat-out hyperventilating now, spitting words out as best he could. “But it  _ wasn't _ real. Fucking useless broken mind.” He squeezed his wet eyes shut and tears ran down into his hair. “And if you two hadn’t been here, Nic …” He broke off and shook his head. 

Khalila didn’t need him to continue. She was already picturing the scene with far too much clarity; Nic coming home in two days’ time and opening the door, and what he would find there. 

_ This is my fault for going to open the door. _

_ All he cares about is that scenario is what it might do to Nic. Not that he thought to do it at all.  _

_ We mustn’t leave him alone tonight. _

Khalila locked those thoughts inside a box to address later, and leaned forwards to put her hand on Wolfe’s shoulder.

Forget being the Archivist, the responsibility of helping Wolfe piece himself back together made her feel sick. She had to get this right. 

“Open your eyes, Scholar. Look at me. Focus on me, not on what your panic is telling you. You are safe and alive and nothing has happened.”

“But-“

“No buts. We can talk about it later, if you want. For now, just breathe. Feel your breath going in and out.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly and steadily. 

He pulled a face that she couldn’t quite decipher, and moved his hand from his stomach to his chest while continuing to gasp fruitlessly. 

“I know. You know how to breathe. You know how to deal with your own panic, I’m sure. Humour me, please?”

Was that a slight softening of his blank gaze, or was she imagining it?

She took a chance, and grabbed the corners of the blanket that they had draped over the divan. He didn’t protest when she tucked the blanket around him. 

He didn’t meet her eyes much over the next few minutes, flicking his gaze between the ceiling and the opposite wall with only tiny, short blinks in her direction when he needed to try to realign his unsteady breathing. 

Eventually Wolfe let go of his stomach and Dario in order to scratch his arm. She’d seen him do this before. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism. A way to ground himself. 

She sneaked a look at Dario’s arm, and winced. He was going to have finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow, for certain. 

“Hey, stop that,” Dario said sharply. She stared at him, partly with shock and partly to remonstrate him for his tone. Then she followed his sightline; Wolfe was digging his nails into the thick, dark line of one of his scars hard enough to blanch the surrounding skin and his fingertips, and tugging with what looked like clear intent to break the skin. 

“Stop that!” she echoed. She didn’t try to prise his hand free, because she wasn’t sure that she physically could, but she cupped that hand between both of hers and stroked it. “Stop hurting yourself. Stop it right now.”

“I’m …” He looked confused for a moment, then he blinked and relaxed his hand. “Oh. That. It’s fine, Khalila. It doesn’t really hurt.” He glanced down at the indents in his arm. “It’s fine.”

Khalila touched a bead of blood with her thumb. “I don’t think that’s fine.” She gently rubbed the abused skin. He shivered, but made no attempt to pull away from her. 

“I’m all right now, Khalila. Sorry, I.” He blew out a wobbly, wine-smelling breath and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry.”

“No, please don’t be sorry. How are you feeling now?”

He shrugged. “I’m all right.”

That was such a ‘Jess’ response that she couldn’t help but give Wolfe the same scolding eyebrow-raise that she would give Jess. The corner of Wolfe’s mouth twitched. 

“I’m … as expected, probably. I don’t know what this … Nic won’t ...” He trailed off again, and shrugged. Speech seemed a heavy effort, even with his breathing more or less back under control. 

“You look tired.” That was an understatement; he looked like the only reason he’d stopped actively panicking was sheer exhaustion. “Do you feel like you could shut your eyes and try to rest, with us here?”

“Maybe.” He leant his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. “I’ll admit I’m … a little tired.”

“Just a little bit,” Dario interjected sarcastically. 

“Shut up,” Wolfe mumbled. 

“And you’ll seize up if you sleep here,” Dario continued. 

That was a good point. She’d forgotten about Wolfe’s earlier demonstration of back pain. 

Wolfe opened his eyes and lolled his head towards Dario. “You just want the rest of that fucking wine.”

Dario grinned and made an exaggerated gesture. “Please do hoard your substandard Italian fare for yourself, Scholar. I won’t touch it.”

Wolfe got to his feet in a rush, then swayed and grabbed for the arm of the chair. Khalila put her hands up helplessly, but luckily Dario had been thinking faster, and was already standing, reaching, holding Wolfe up. 

“Easy, Scholar, let’s sit down,” she heard him say. 

Wolfe shook his head, which only intensified his slump against Dario. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just a second. Get my feet under.” His words came out slurred and mumbled. 

They waited for an awkward few moments while Wolfe gulped air and swayed dizzily in Dario’s arms. Eventually he steadied from the near-faint and batted Dario’s hands away. 

The fact that he let the pair of them hover and shadow his steps as he stumbled towards the bedroom, though, said a lot. 

He turned in the doorway, to which he was tightly clinging. “You’re not coming in.”

“We’ll let you lie down in peace,” Khalila agreed carefully, “but before you do so, I was just wondering if we could quickly discuss a few things?”

Wolfe looked between them and the bed. Sighed heavily. “Fine.”

He sat down, bracing himself with his arms behind him. It was obvious that without the support, he’d fall straight backwards. 

“I won’t keep you long, I promise.” Khalila smoothed her headscarf. “Firstly, would you like this door kept open? So that you can hear us?”

The cogs in Wolfe’s mind visibly ground and creaked as he tried to weigh that up. “Yes.” 

He didn’t try to argue whether they should stay or not. That was unnerving.

“Secondly, where is that gun you mentioned, and could I take care of it for the night? Would that be acceptable?”

That strange, sharp silence fell again. Wolfe sighed. “That’s probably not … but, anyway. Top of the wardrobe.”

“Thank you.” She looked at Dario, who nodded and walked to the wardrobe. “And thirdly, and, I promise, lastly; I think you should write to Nic.”

He barked a sharp, awful laugh and let his arms give way, flopping back onto the bed. “And say what, Khalila? We thought I was better, Nic, but we were wrong?” Suddenly he was all but vibrating with furious energy, his voice rising to a rasping shout. “Come home and take over from my babysitters? Come home and ruin your career, again, because I’m too fucked up to manage a bit of paranoia alone? Come home and worry yourself sick about me,  _ again _ , wrap yourself around me until neither of us can breathe?” Panting, he hooked his nails into his other arm again and this time the scar tissue did give way. 

Khalila leaned in and pressed part of the bedclothes against the wound, hoping to staunch the shallow bleed quickly. She heard and recognised his rage, but there had been an achingly clear refrain in that tirade.

“‘Come home’ seems like a good place to start,” she said gently. His face twisted. 

“Fuck off. Fuck off and let me bleed on my own fucking bed in peace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolfe mentions suicide twice in the series.
> 
> Once in Ash and Quill, when he says that Santi keeps him alive when the alternative seems so peaceful, and once at the end of Smoke and Iron when he makes Santi promise to kill him if it looks like he'll be captured again - to which Santi's response is, I'll come with you. Wolfe then says he'd rather live with Santi than die with him, and that they should try for that. 
> 
> Word of God ramblings to follow, feel free to skip if you like interpreting fic in your own way!
> 
> So I headcanon that Santi and Wolfe have spoken about suicidal thoughts pre-canon. Unsurprisingly, given Rome. 
> 
> Wolfe keeps a gun in the wardrobe a) soothe panic but b) as a bit of a comfort blanket. The ultimate escape hatch, if his worst fears were realised. He gets so upset here not so much because of the suicide attempt, but because it was a -mistaken- suicide attempt, it was the wrong decision, and because he knows Santi would probably follow him too, all because his tired, panicky brain joined the dots incorrectly.


	4. Autonomy

**Previously:**

> _ Khalila leaned in and pressed part of the bedclothes against the wound, hoping to staunch the shallow bleed quickly. She heard and recognised his rage, but there had been an achingly clear refrain in that tirade. _
> 
> _ “‘Come home’ seems like a good place to start,” she said gently. His face twisted.  _
> 
> _ “Fuck off. Fuck off and let me bleed on my own fucking bed in peace.” _

* * *

Not knowing what else to do, she nodded and retreated. 

Dario came towards her with his arms outstretched, but she stopped him with a look and signed a little clumsily to ask where the gun was. Her hands shook. 

'On the table,' he signed back. 'I put the safety on.'

Khalila's stomach swooped again. 'The safety was off?' 

Dario nodded. She saw her distress reflected in his dark eyes. His hands shook, too. 

They needed to be calmer if they were to manage whatever might happen next tonight. 

They were alone, or as good as, if they could be quiet, so she sat on the sofa and offered Dario space to kneel, if he wanted. 

He looked back at the bedroom door and frowned nervously, before folding into position between her legs. He found this comforting, and she found that being able to comfort him settled her mind. 

They did this sort of act more and more outside of the bedroom, but only ever before in the privacy of their suite. This would have to do, for now. She bent down and cuddled his head against her, resting her cheek against his hair. He relaxed and shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

They stayed like that for a little while, until she couldn't feel a tremble from either of them anymore. 

'All right?' she murmured as she kissed his forehead. He nodded. This, she thought, was why Wolfe needed to contact Nic. If the two of them were upset by the evening's events, then how desperately must Wolfe need comfort? 

Comfort that he would actually accept, she thought with a sigh. 

There hadn’t been a sound from Wolfe in the bedroom, but she didn’t think he’d fallen asleep. 

Dario waved a pack of cards at her enticingly, and she let him draw her into a game. 

Neither of them were fully paying attention, so she beat him without trying and he didn’t even complain. They switched to something more luck-based next. 

Quite frankly, Khalila was paying more attention to the absolute silence from the bedroom. It felt ominous. 

The sound of Wolfe rolling over in bed and sighing relieved some of that tension. Her muscles relaxed, and she let her fingers strum at her hand of cards, a noisy habit which always drove Dario to distraction. 

“What are you two doing?” Wolfe’s voice sounded drowsy, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

“Making our mark on your divan,” Dario shot back, before she had a chance to file carefully through the questions in her head to prune out the most concerned and likely to be viewed as patronising. 

“I’d hear the creaking, if nothing else,” Wolfe replied dismissively. Khalila analysed the rustling sounds coming from the bedroom. Sounded like he was sitting up. 

“You should be sleeping,” she blurted, then immediately wanted to kick herself for something so useless and obvious. 

“So should you,” he replied. 

“Nonsense.” She debated getting up and peering through the doorway for this next bit, but it felt easier to talk to Wolfe without seeing him right now. “We’ll stay awake so that you don’t have to.”

That caused a long and unmistakably prickly silence. “You  _ fucking _ children,” he said at last, sounding near to tears. 

‘We’re twenty-two years old!’ Dario signed petulantly, stressing the age sign so hard that Khalila had to concentrate to see it clearly. She still wasn’t fluent enough to pick up on Dario’s native-level embellishments. Out loud, though, he said, “You’re stuck with us, Scholar, and we're stuck with you.”

Wolfe grunted, and the bedclothes rustled as if he was rolling over. To Khalila’s relief and delight, the sounds of heavier, even breaths came from the bedroom within a few minutes.

Asleep.

Dario sat back between her legs, and she rested her feet comfortably on him while she tinkered with her paper. He rested his head against the side of her knee and opened his Codex to find the novel he’d started. It could have been an evening in their suite, for a little while. 

When Wolfe started crying out, she winced and jumped, but she wasn’t surprised. They had all known about Wolfe’s nightmares ever since their ordeal in the prison of Philadelphia. It wasn’t pleasant to listen to, but she also knew from Jess’ experience a while ago that waking Wolfe up during one tended to disorientate and scare him. 

It was difficult, though. Her burnt hands itched with the desire to contact Nic herself, as Wolfe called out for him from the bedroom.

No matter how many times she had to balance this for her friends, it was  _ always _ difficult. At which point did they lose the ability to make their own decisions? There were some obvious places: when Wolfe hallucinated; when Jess couldn’t breathe well enough to talk or walk; when Thomas went more than twenty-four hours in the workshop. But everything else was this constant painful weighing up of what was her responsibility and what was overstepping.  _ Had _ Wolfe lost touch with reality, earlier, permitting her to contact Nic? Or had it simply been the climax of a day of paranoia? Was it enough that he had immediately regretted his aborted action? 

It was far easier with Dario, she thought with a sigh, who had handed over responsibility for his distress to her a while ago. 

Was it worth breaking Wolfe’s trust, to bring him comfort?

And to bring her peace of mind, she thought. The realisation sent an unpleasant hot thread up her spine. That was part of the urge, wasn’t it? Nic coming home would be easier for her. How selfish of her. How cowardly. 

She didn’t realise that she had tightened her grip on Dario’s hair until he tipped his head back to look at her. 

“All right,  _ querida _ ?”

“Do  _ you _ think I should contact Nic?”

Her turmoil came out as a shake in her voice. He reached up and gently pulled one of her hands to his mouth to kiss it. 

“What’s the time difference between where Nic is and here?” 

“He’s six hours ahead,” she replied automatically. 

“Then when it reaches a decent morning hour for Nic, I think that yes we should.”

Trust Dario to find a greyer option than her worried yes/no binary. 

“There’s no emergency right now,” he continued, “so messaging Nic at … at half past four in the morning would just panic him.”

“He’s going to panic anyway,” she pointed out facetiously. 

Dario shrugged and kissed her hand again. “That’s my opinion.” 

Khalila sighed and tried to work this new concept into her internal scales. Her thoughts were interrupted a few minutes later by the sound of scuffling from the bedroom.

“Wolfe?” she called. No response, only hurried footsteps. 

“I’ll get him some water,” Dario muttered and got to his feet before she’d even registered the sound of Wolfe wrenching open the bathroom door. 

Ah, well. She was quite relieved to not be as intimately familiar with late-night vomiting as Dario was. 

She walked to the thrown-open bathroom door and waited for Wolfe’s retching to cease. He hadn’t switched the light on, so there was only the low glow from the main room to cast long unnerving shadows everywhere. He was nothing more than a dark crouched form next to the white toilet. 

“Are you all right, Scholar?” she asked. It was yet another inane question, but she needed to announce her presence  _ somehow _ . It deserved the response it got; a cursory, gasping,

“Fine. Nightmare.”

Dario eased past her with a hand on her back, and sat down next to Wolfe. 

“No. One of you out.” Wolfe’s voice was jagged with panic. 

Khalila backed into the bedroom and called “I’m out,” just as Dario asked,

“Why?” 

Soon, Khalila thought, eyeing him suspiciously, Dario wasn’t going to be able to keep up this airy gilded facade for much longer, but Wolfe seemed to be responding well to it. 

“If we’re all in here, no-one has a line of sight on the front door.” His voice sounded hollow and terrified.

_ Right, that’s it _ , Khalila thought.  _ That’s more than irrational enough. Would he have the gun, now, if he could? Point it at the door, in the dark? We’ll settle him as best we can and then I’m contacting Nic and bringing him home _ . 

“I can see the door from here,” she called, trying to reassure Wolfe. Something must have shown in her voice - maybe too soothing? - because he snapped back;

“I  _ know _ this is ridiculous, Khalila.” He inhaled shakily. “I just - I’m sorry.”

“Less apologising, more rinsing your mouth out,” Dario said flippantly. 

“Fuck off.”

“Excuse you, I am a fucking expert at throwing up. Rinse your mouth out and maybe blow your nose and I’ll let you pretend that you’re the one holding up this glass.”

“I’m not a child, Dario!”

“Neither am I,  _ Wolfe _ .” There was genuine irritation in Dario’s voice there, and Khalila took half a step forward before she could help herself. “And even when I was, I knew what it was like to use all your energy to keep your face out of the toilet bowl. So. Water.”

Surprisingly, worryingly, Wolfe had no response to that. 

Khalila left them to it, and paced into the main room where she’d left her Codex. She picked it up and opened it to the messages page. 

Turned up the glows. Put her stylus to paper. 

She stopped and sighed. 

Even with her mind made up, she couldn’t in any good conscience do this without at least letting Wolfe know.

She ducked back into the bedroom. “Scholar?” 

“You can come into the damned bathroom, Khalila,” he grumbled.

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” she protested. 

He repeated “Uncomfortable,” and laughed hoarsely. 

She stayed where she was. Maybe she still had a little of that postulant fear built-in. “I’m going to contact Nic.”

There it was. That icy silence. She could very easily picture the glare that should accompany it. 

“You always think you know best, don’t you?” 

Anger was always Wolfe’s fortifier. Without her existing knowledge she certainly wouldn’t hear that voice and think that its owner was in a shivering heap on his bathroom floor. 

The unfairness of his comment pricked her sharply and deeply, and her voice wobbled as she replied;

“I might be being selfish, actually. It’s difficult to see you like this. We both know Nic would help.”

There was a pause. Then Wolfe said, in a quiet, hoarse voice,  “Be useful, Dario.” 

Dario obediently offered his hand, and then his other hand as it became necessary, to help Wolfe to his feet. 

They emerged into the comparatively bright bedroom, better lit by the glows from the other room. Wolfe leant heavily on Dario and he still looked like a crumpled, shivering, haunted version of the man who had stood before her earlier that day, but he met her eyes without hesitation or flinch.

“That was just a nightmare peak, Khalila. Nothing I can’t ride out. Nothing I'm not used to. But I understand how it must have looked, coming after earlier.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder gently, rubbing down to the crook of her elbow and back up again. As good as a hug, from him.

He was trying to reassure her. 

After vomiting from sheer terror, _he_ was trying to reassure _her_. 

Tears blurred as she blinked and drew breath to speak again. "I won't contact Nic. I suppose you knew I wouldn't. But oh, I wish you would!" Her voice cracked and she had to hold her breath to stop herself sobbing.

Wolfe shifted in Dario's grip, and looked at Dario. 

At the moment, Khalila loved Dario even more fiercely than before, because he shoved down his jewelled defences and let Wolfe see the distress in his eyes, too. His hands trembled too. 

Wolfe sighed. It shook, like the rest of him.  "I'm glad you're both here, but I wish you weren't. Let go, Dario." Released, he went to the bed and sank down onto it, bracing his forearms on his thighs. "My Codex is in the other room."

It took Khalila a moment to realise the request under the bare fact. (She wasn’t used to receiving veiled orders anymore.) She hadn’t expected Wolfe to give in about Nic that quickly. Her suspicions rallied. “You’ll tell him to come home?”

“What I do or don’t say to my partner is none of your concern,” Wolfe said, perfectly sharp and angry, and again, if she couldn't see him, huddled on his bed, she'd believe he was fine from that voice.

“Of course.” She nodded and left. In the main room, she scooped up his Codex, then eyed the blanket they’d thrown over the divan and grabbed that, too. 

“Here.” She offered him his Codex, but in her other hand, the blanket. Her heart beat hard and fast in her ears. He took the Codex, then looked from her to the blanket quizzically. “You’re shivering still.” She tucked the blanket around his shoulders, half-expecting him to dash it away. 

He pulled a face. “That happens. I promise you, Khalila, dearheart, this is within the bounds of an average bad night, now.” 

He couldn't hold the ends of the blanket together for his shaking, but his eyes were steady. The underlying thread of panic that hadn't left his voice since they'd arrived was gone.

She swallowed. His concern burnt like acid. It felt like failure. She should be better than this. More able to bring comfort.  “I’m sorry if I overstepped.” She fiddled with the blanket, trying to get it to sit properly around his shoulders.

He rolled his eyes, but let her fuss. “Nic would have approved.  I’ll message him and try to sleep. You can close the door. Don’t worry, either of you.”

* * *

Khalila caught Dario’s eye as she closed the bedroom door behind them, and he pulled a face. 

Yes, she was doubtful too. Could be a request for privacy while he spoke with Nic, could be a show of bravado. Certainly, she didn’t think Wolfe was comfortable with not being able to see the front door anymore. 

Would he even contact Nic? All he’d done was miminimse the situation. 

A few minutes later, she had her answer. First Dario’s then her Codex lit up. 

She tucked Dario more tightly between her legs as she opened the message, and he squeezed her knee reassuringly in response. 

_ Which of you is with him? _ Nic had written to them both. To them all, she could tell by the quality of the message. Simultaneous messaging was a strain on the mirroring. 

His handwriting was atrocious, but that wasn’t the only sign of his haste; had he spent a moment to consider their whereabouts he would have remembered that Khalila and Dario were the only ones currently in Alexandria. 

_ Dario and I _ , Khalila wrote. 

In response, Santi sent a copy of Wolfe’s message. This was a new Codex function that at the minute she was restricting only to the Curia - an ability to preserve messages for a limited amount of time. They were trying to remove the Obscurist workload, not add to it after all. 

Wolfe had written:

> _ Having a bad evening, my love. Scaring the children. I would appreciate some conversation _ .

Then, on a line underneath, written in quick, rushed strokes,

> _ it’s all right, they’ve got the gun _

Said object dragged Khalila’s gaze towards it like iron filings to a magnet. It was still on the table, where Dario had placed it. 

Her Codex flashed again, then again, revealing messages so scrawled that she had to pass them to Dario for deciphering. 

_ What happened?  _

_ Is he safe?  _

And then, as Khalila put pen to paper to reply placatingly, 

_ I'm coming home _ . 

She attempted to explain the situation in the most neutral way that she could. She wasn’t sure how much she should share from a distance. 

Nic’s responses were terse and pushy.

“How quickly do you think he’ll make it back?” Dario asked. She shrugged.

“I don’t know how close he is to the Chengdu Translation Chamber. That’s the variable.”

Several minutes later, she noticed that Dario was staring at Wolfe’s closed door. She raised her eyebrows at him. 

“He’s writing to Wolfe too. You can see the light from his Codex, under the door. It’s pretty constant.”

She frowned, and looked down at the message she was halfway through writing. She had an opportunity to address that.

_ Anyway, I hope he’s sleeping now _ , she added.  _ He promised us that he would try _ . 

Dario chuckled as he read it upside-down. “You guilt-tripping sneak.”

The flashes from Wolfe’s Codex slowed after that, so she felt like that little bit of interference was worthwhile, and even more so when the sound of Wolfe’s sleeping breathing faintly sounded through the door. 

She sent a quick message to Captain Gurung outside, warning her that the Lord Commander would be returning and should be allowed through. 

_ Thank you _ , Gurung replied, which was incongruous enough to make Khalila ask why. 

_ Thank you for the warning, Archivist _ , Gurung wrote back.  _ But I think I'd have needed at least another half-century with me to have a chance at keeping the commander at bay _ . 

Khalila didn’t respond, but she smiled a grim smile of agreement. 


	5. Nic Comes Home

An hour or so later, Khalila was jolted awake from her unintentional doze by the sound of a carriage approaching. 

Next, the bedroom door opened and Wolfe emerged. Hair brushed back, dressed in pyjamas and a robe rather than the creased clothes he’d fallen into bed with before.

“Listen to him pretend that he’s not running to the door,” Wolfe said in a darkly amused tone. Sure enough, the heavy thump of Nic flinging himself out of the carriage was almost immediately followed by light, even footsteps. 

“You can talk.” Khalila gave Wolfe a gently teasing look. “Look at you, all neat and presentable.”

The front door opened. A strange part of Khalila’s mind, still held in thrall to Wolfe’s overwhelming paranoia, turned her cold with fear. 

Nic stepped through the door. 

Lord Commander? Nic? 

It was an interesting juxtaposition. He was dressed casually - actually, it looked as if he’d just grabbed yesterday’s clothes off the floor - but his eyes flickered round the room in full threat-assessment mode. 

Relief washed over his face at the sight of Wolfe leaning against the bedroom doorway. 

“You should be asleep,” he said, striding past Khalila and Dario like they didn’t exist and pulling Wolfe straight into his arms. 

“You should be in Chengdu,” Wolfe answered, his voice muffled by Nic’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, and he looked so vulnerable and relieved that Khalila looked away. 

Then, even from the corner of her eyes, she could see them come together in a kiss. 

“Let’s go,” she murmured to Dario, nodding towards the door. He yawned and got to his feet. 

“Stay,” Nic commanded, without looking at her. 

Khalila raised her eyebrows at Dario, who made her giggle by woofing softly. 

“Sorry.” Nic turned towards her, as much as his vine-like embrace of Wolfe would let him. Wolfe’s face was entirely hidden now, and Nic’s hand was combing gently through Wolfe’s hair. “Sorry; leave if you want, dear. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll come and see you later.”

Khalila opened her mouth to reply, but got stuck on exactly how to frame it. 

It wasn’t that she found the display of affection  _ uncomfortable _ . If anything, she found it sweet. 

It was just that she’d been brought up to avoid public displays of romantic affection, and she tended, still, to assume that couples engaging in such wanted some privacy.

And she was aware that this was specifically linked with romantic and sexual behaviour; she had no misgivings at all about expressing physical affection towards her friends. 

Was that fair? 

Was this something she and Dario needed to revisit? 

“What do you need to come and see us for?” Dario asked, before she could free herself from the unexpected muddle. Oh dear. It was getting late, wasn’t it?

_ Good boy _ , she signed at him as unobtrusively as she could. 

Dario didn’t blush to the same astonishing scarlet that Jess or Thomas did, but the sudden flush of blood to his face gave his tanned skin an adorable ruddy undertone. 

Nic raised an eyebrow and looked between them with curiosity. 

Hm. There. That felt like the scales were balanced, somehow.

“Well,” Nic said, answering Dario, “At the very least, you mentioned that you were going to deal with the wandering soldiers. I do believe that’s more my purview.”

“Yes, but-”

Nic’s attention left her as Wolf pulled away from his embrace. Wolfe yawned and headed for the divan. His steps were only a touch unsteady.

“Get me a cup of tea if you two are going to start arguing about work spheres again.”

Nic followed him as if they were tied together by a string. “Why don’t you go back to bed, my love? I can tell you're tired.”

Wolfe shrugged Nic’s hands off his shoulders. “Nic, you’re fussing.”

“ _ Chris _ ,” Nic responded, with a break to his voice that might have been the last of his self-restraint snapping, “there is a fucking _loaded gun_ sat on our coffee table which apparently you all agreed you couldn’t be trusted with tonight. The one that you _promised_ me was a comfort item _only_.” 

Wolfe tensed and didn’t resist again as Nic settled at his side and started rubbing his back and shoulders.

Khalila caught her breath as Nic continued, 

“Y _ ou’ve _ not been very forthcoming, either.” He glared at Khalila, before switching his attention to Dario. “Third time lucky?”

Dario looked from Khalila to Wolfe with a panicked expression. Then he sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders. “Well, you know that those soldiers gave him a fright?”

Nic nodded. 

“Right, so … that was close enough, if I’ve got this right, close enough to what he’d been afraid of all day that it convinced him the irrational fear might be coming true. Just for a second. And he was going to head for the gun. Again, just for a  _ second _ .” Dario patted the air in front of him in a reassuring motion as Nic grabbed Wolfe’s hand.

"It wasn't deliberate," Wolfe said, before Dario could continue. His voice was low and urgent. "It wasn't intended, Nic, I didn't _want_ to, I-"

“Hush, my love.” Nic kissed Wolfe’s cheek. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

Wolfe buried his face in Nic's neck. He was trembling again, spasmodic, jerking twitches like badly-wound clockwork. Khalila wondered with a wince how sore and worn out his muscles must be after so much of that. 

“I’m sorry, Nic. I nearly - didn’t mean - you would have - _left_ you - I’m sorry.” Wolfe was sobbing, and Khalila felt even more glaringly, terribly out of place to be seeing this.

"Ssh, Chris. Try not to think about what might have happened. I'm here now. I've got you." Nic rocked Wolfe gently. He was doing a very, very good job of keeping his own distress out of his voice and posture, but Khalila could see it in his expression. 

Nic's words were in Italian. Khalila had no idea if that was deliberate or not. If it was an attempt at privacy it was doomed to failure; she and Dario both understood Italian to a reasonable level.

The urge to help warred with the renewed urge to leave, to let them deal with it in their own familiar ways.

Oh well. Time to get her head bitten off. 

“Can I just say something, Scholar?” She addressed Wolfe but looked at Nic. They both nodded silently, caught up in each other. 

She slid off her chair and onto her knees in front of them. Nic pulled a surprised face and focused on her. His faint noise of surprise made Wolfe open one eye and look at her too. 

“What?” he said, flat and exhausted, but not hostile. She slowly reached for his hand. It was clammy and it trembled violently. 

“You’re upset because of what might have happened, aren’t you?” she said cautiously.  _ With the gun _ , didn’t need to be added. Wolfe nodded, and coughed as if his breath had caught in his throat. Nic tightened his grip and murmured.

“It’s fine, you’re here, everything is fine,” into Wolfe’s hair. He sounded close to tears himself, now, his self-control wearing, so she aimed her next words at him too. 

“I have an alternate scenario, if you can listen to it right now?” 

Wolfe watched her, warily, wordlessly. 

She felt Dario settle by her side, his hand in its usual comforting place on her back, and she drew strength from that. 

“I have an alternate scenario,” she said again, gently. “You know how much I love and respect you, Scholar Wolfe, and how I still look to you for guidance and perspective on troublesome issues. You honour me with your continued belief and determination in me, when I struggle with that myself.” She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.

Wolfe rolled his eyes. That was definitely a good sign. 

“So I offer you this alternate scenario not as a sop to both our nerves, but as an alternate argument, an intellectual point of view for you to consider in your own time, and to your own purposes.” 

Wolfe’s fingers flexed in hers; a weak squeeze. “Archivist Seif is lecturing me, Nic,” he mumbled, sounding a touch steadier already despite the way that his breathing was still ragged.

“She is,” Nic agreed. “She’ll expect a written response on her desk by the end of the week, no doubt.”

Khalila let them tease. The normality visibly helped them both settle. 

“I posit that if Dario and I had not been here, events would have panned out as so: you would have reached the bedroom. Perhaps opened the wardrobe; perhaps held the gun in your hands, yes. But at some point you would have paused and watched the door, waiting for them to enter. Because you would want to make  _ absolutely certain _ that the worst-case scenario was truly happening before you committed yourself to this course of action.” 

Wolfe nodded once, jerkily, and buried his face back in Nic’s shoulder again. 

“Get to the point,” Nic said, eyeing Wolfe.

“But the worst-case scenario would not occur.” She kept her voice as light and easy as she could. “We know that it wouldn’t, because it didn’t tonight. No-one entered the house who shouldn't have. It was just some drunken soldiers, looking for a friend, and they soon passed by.”

“When I get my hands on them-”

“You will not.” She interrupted Nic, and held his suddenly fuming gaze for a moment before dismissing it and returning her attention to Wolfe.

“So in this hypothesis, you never needed to make that decision. Even without our presence. The final event necessary never occurred, which we know to be true.”

Wolfe opened one eye again and squinted at her. She half-anticipated an irritated demand for the definition of truth within the grounds of a hypothetical situation, but he stayed silent.

“You would have been frightened still, I am certain,” she said, as gently as she could. An unreadable expression crossed his drawn face and he closed his eyes and nestled his head back against Nic's shoulder. “Perhaps you would have spent the whole rest of tonight night waiting and watching. Poised. But then you would have seen the sun rise, Scholar, and whether you had then brought Nic home early or not, he would have found you safe and whole and alive.”

There was a long silence after she finished. Then Wolfe made a soft, thoughtful noise and shifted position against Nic. His hand dropped limply out of her grasp and she stared up at him with concern even as she carefully tucked his arm back onto the divan. 

Wolfe’s breathing was almost steady, his body resting lax and heavy against Nic. Had she merely talked him to sleep? 

She looked up at Nic for reassurance despite herself. 

He smiled. “He’s thinking through your scenario. Too tired to multi-task, aren’t you, love?” He kissed Wolfe’s forehead and cupped the back of his head tenderly. 

Then he met her eyes again. “That was a perceptive and plausible speech, though I shouldn’t expect anything else from you, my dear. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve come home to him pointing a gun at my head. It’s an easy alternative for him to picture. Thank you.”

Khalila let out a breath that she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. She felt light-headed. 

“I’ll get him into bed,” Nic continued, “and then we can get back to the topic of those soldiers.”

Her heart sank. The last thing she wanted was a fight over this. 

To her astonishment, it became apparent that Nic intended to physically carry Wolfe to bed. Nic was stronger and bulkier, yes, but the two men barely differed in height. 

She felt Dario shift at her back; saw Nic’s eyes glance over her to him before shaking his head at what was probably an offer of help.

Wolfe apparently agreed with her and Dario; he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, and complained in sharp syllables in a language that Khalila didn’t recognise.

Nic’s response was clear;

“I have carried you before, my love, and I will carry you now.”

After Nic had indeed succeeded in lifting Wolfe (Khalila was going to have no sympathy the next time Nic complained about his back) and the bedroom door had closed behind them, Khalila leaned back into Dario’s arms with a sigh. 

“All right, my sunlight?” He tucked his head onto her shoulder and nuzzled her cheek. She reached up to stroke his cheek in return, and stretched a little to run her fingers through his hair as well. 

“This won’t be a fun argument,” she said with another sigh. “Of  _ course _ he can’t see the soldier who could be construed as responsible. It’s far too personal. He’s far too angry and protective right now.”

“Mm,” Dario hummed into her ear. His ‘gently protesting’ response. 

She hummed back in a sharp querying tone.

“May I make an observation, my lady?” He nuzzled her cheek again. Protocol politeness. Buttering her up. 

“Stop being cute and make your point.” 

He chuckled. “You’re right. Nic can’t see them. But neither can you.” He paused as if waiting for her response. She stayed silent, heard him swallow before plunging on. “There is absolutely no logical reason for the Archivist to reprimand a few low-ranking soldiers. It’s too personal for you, too.  _ You’re _ too angry;  _ you’re _ too protective. You can’t draw such direct attention to Wolfe’s wellbeing as one of your weak points.”

Oh, now he was getting too cold and courtly for her liking. She wriggled free from his embrace and glared at him. 

“The people I love are well-known already, if you must phrase them as ‘weak points’.” 

This was an old argument and he didn’t rise to the bait. 

“Mm. But they are  _ not  _ widely known by the rank and file. As it should be. It  _ cannot  _ be seen as this easy to completely distract the Archivist and the Lord Commander simply by walking down a street!” His eyes were very black, but she ignored the sign of his turbulent emotions for her own:

“How have you made this all about me? This should be all about Wolfe!”

“It  _ is _ !” Dario snapped back at her. “You will draw even more attention to Wolfe’s mental health than already exists within the Library!” He flung his hands out. “If you and Nic weren’t getting fucking  _ erections _ over the thought of scaring the shit out of these soldiers by flexing your power as  _ revenge _ , you’d see my point!”

“I’m not flexing anything!”

Dario laughed at that, sharp and bitter. “You’re normally so aware of when you might be abusing your authority. This just proves my point.” 

That hit her like a punch to the chest. “I’m not abusing my authority! I’d do the same regardless of my position!”

Dario inclined his head. His eyes glittered. “Close, but not quite, flower. Scholar Seif would find these soldiers and give them one of her stunning speeches, yes, and it would no doubt be very effective. But that’s not what happened. You asked a High Garda Captain to bring just the squad leader, not the rest, to your desk. Potentially the relevant lieutenant, too. You, the Archivist, asked for that. Is it going to be either of those soldiers’ faults? No. But they will pass down any shit you give them ten-fold, out of shame, and you  _ know _ that. 

“All of that is pure hierarchy, the same thing you say you hate, but we both know you can use it when you want to and in your fury you reached for the right strings and you pulled them tight.  _ That _ is what I mean.”

She felt ill, all of a sudden, because Dario was right. She couldn’t muster her thoughts to reply before Dario continued with his tirade:

“So you would use your position to inflict more damage than you could on your own. Nic would do the same, and we both know he’d would be unable to avoid bringing Wolfe into it as well and trying to make them feel guilty. Thus, rumours.” He flung his hands out again, and she saw how his fingers quivered. “And _ I _ have to point it out to you because  _ I’m _ the unfeeling bastard who can think of people as chess pieces.”

That was an old argument too. Thankfully she was saved having to respond by Nic opening the bedroom door and stalking into the main room. 

“Would you two shut up?” he hissed. He was shirtless.

“Sorry,” she and Dario chorused in ashamed unison, briefly united again.

“We’ll go, Nic, I’m sorry. We’ve overstayed our welcome. Everyone’s tired,” she said, fighting back tears with all her might. 

“Chris agrees with Dario,” Nic said to her back. She turned. He was looking at Dario with an odd, frustrated expression on his face. “So make the most of your time as the voice of common sense in the room, Dario.” His angry sarcasm faded for his final sentence; “What do we do?”

Dario paced one, two, three steps, still wearing his courtly facade like a cloak of knives. “Ask your second to do it, Nic. She’s still too high up, but she can pretend it’s a question of your privacy or something. It’s a breach of discipline. Whatever. You’ll know your rules. Remember, all this  _ actually _ is is a few people straying into a restricted area.” He waved a hand dismissively. “She’s got the distance from the situation that none of us do.”

Khalila wanted to protest, but she saw the same urge rise in Nic and that helped her to tamp herself down.

Nic nodded, slowly. “Yes. Right. I’ll message Alamasi.” He patted his trouser pockets, then stared helplessly around the room for a moment. 

“You were messaging me, before,” Khalila pointed out. “Did you leave it in the carriage?”

Nic sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. “Probably.”

“It’s in here. How  _ do _ you run an entire military force without disaster?” came faintly from the bedroom.

They all jumped. 

Nic blew out his cheeks.  “Thank you, Chris,” he called over his shoulder with more than a touch of sarcasm. “God forbid you stay asleep for more than thirty seconds.”

After so many false starts, Khlila and Dario finally made it to the door. Dario was still cool and sharp, but he wasn’t shying away from her so she desperately hoped the worst of their fight was over.

“Thank you,” Nic said abruptly. “I haven’t said that yet, have I? Thank you both.” He yanked Dario into a tight hug, with a slap on the back that echoed, and bowed far more deeply than was necessary to Khalila. When he straightened, his eyelashes were damp.

“No gratitude is necessary,” she protested. 

“Who would expect gratitude for helping Wolfe?” Dario sad, a touch too loudly. There was a rustling sound from the bedroom, but no other response. 

Nic rolled his eyes. “He’ll compose something suitably cutting later, I’m sure.” He opened the door for them. The night air was cold against her overheated skin. 

As she stepped onto the street, her guards materialised as if from nowhere.

“Where to, Archivist?” 

Dario’s hand found hers, and he stood just half a step behind her. More placating protocol. It worked; a little of her tension dissipated. 

“Home,” she said.


End file.
